Unintended Intentions
by bones-angel
Summary: AU. R/S. Remus and Sirius find themselves drawn to each other, though completely ignorant of the consequences of their attraction. Sirius may have to choose between duty and desire, and Remus may be forced into giving up something he's begun to desire.
1. Chapter 1: Apotheosis

**Genre: **Romance, Drama, Humor.  
**Characters: **Marauders, etc.  
**Universe:** Set in an AU London, with a King instead of a Queen (will come into the plot later).

**Unintended Intentions**

**Chapter 1: Apotheosis  
**

He was lost. Nothing, at that moment, could bring him back. Nothing held him back. His fingers glided. Plucked. Strummed. The strings of the guitar produced the most melancholic, romantic tune under his uncanny, uncommon dexterity. Eyes shut, tightly. Beads of perspiration trickled down the back of his neck, collecting at the top of his forehead. Lips pursed. Jaws clenched. Heartstrings taut as he hauled the deepest, saddest memories from the expanse of his soul, decanting his pain into the music.

He was oblivious, to the world, the audience being swayed by his music, and the pair of unyielding grey eyes scrutinising his fingers.

—

_Earlier that evening…_

"Oh, Mr. Black," she paused, gazing fondly at him, "I was under the impression that this was a business dinner." A small, uncharacteristic, suggestive sneer was directed at him.

He flinched inwardly, disgusted at how crude she was being. Schooled in the art of aristocratic nonchalance, he smiled cordially, eyes betraying nothing but cool elegance, velvet smooth voice replying, "Of course, Miss Greengrass."

He lift his hand off her elbow, hiding his relief with a flash of a charming smile, and gestured politely towards the entrance of the classy restaurant. She gave an approving glance, eyebrow cocked, and walked inside. She stood there, waiting for the man to join her, as her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness of the interior.

It was, without a doubt, the best restaurant in London. Rumors flitted gracelessly, and spewed out of even the more cultured mouths of high society. She would never admit to it, but she had propagated some while in the process of collecting more. She had heard it all.

_Owned by a madman entrepreneur. Genius, but wildly eccentric._

She followed him, and waited for the waiter to seat her, handing her an elegantly-designed menu. Her lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as her perfectly-manicured spidery fingers traced the text.

Mr. Black, or Sirius as he was known to _friends_, merely nodded congenially at the waiter, a cocky grin pulling at his lips as he confirmed his usual request, and not of food. He turned to his date for the evening, briefly, before turning to the expectant waiter.

"A vintage, if you will," he nodded curtly, winking as though some shared secret passed between them, unbeknownst to his guest.

The waiter nodded, desperately holding back a mischievous grin.

A vintage. Always a vintage. Never _the_ vintage. Or the finest. Yet, whenever he brought a bottle that was certainly not the one requested, he was merely rewarded with a knowing, conspiratorial smile. Sirius knew of the wondrous collection of wine, spirit and various alcoholic drinks the cellar of Emerald City held. Why, he had assisted the owner in their selection, perusing his extensive knowledge of fine dining and alcohol.

Said owner, now clad impeccably in a waiter's uniform, was positively brimming with mischievous thoughts of ruining his best friend's dinner. The date tonight was positively vile. He could, without hesitation, imagine her in her element among giggly, pretentious high society ladies. The very same society his friend sought to avoid. The society that clamored for Black's attention. The society that he, James Potter, had willfully shunned, and proudly succeeded in doing so.

He selected a bottle of Merlot, ignorant the request for a proper vintage, and made his way up to the dining area. A proper maître d' had appeared at Sirius' table, doing his best – James could see a clenched fist hidden beneath the serviette – to tolerate at what seemed to be irrelevant questions from the lady. Sirius had the tell-tale steely gaze of a seasoned war veteran which, when he sent a warning look, he quickly changed imperceptibly to one of amusement.

He beckoned for the elderly maître d' to him when the latter was done, and handed him the bottle wordlessly, knowing the older man would understand who its intended recipient was. He decided he would attend to various other matters that require his attention, rather than have some glee at Sirius' expense.

Sirius, on the other hand, was utterly miserable. His guest was, he concluded, a downright asinine heiress of an unfortunate successful upper-crust family dealing in overseas trading. He contributed little, smiling at all the right times, murmuring his assent when appropriate, and to his relief, excused her when she decided to go to the powder room.

He let out an inaudible sigh, leaning back in his seat as he turned to the musician at a corner of the room. He let his eyes focus on the man – a thin, lanky figure with near golden hair, face obscured by the shadows caused by the incandescent lighting. It was a sorrowful tune, inspiring some heartbroken moments in his life to creep treacherously close to the surface of his veneer of detachment. He narrowed his eyes, catching himself in time, and fortified his defenses. It was a dangerous composition, and for it to be played by a nondescript character only added to his apprehension.

He surveyed him warily, missing nothing in his meticulous visual dissection. His face now turned towards the light, and he could see him better. Sandy-brown hair, with touches of dark brown, cropped neatly. His facial features were deemed attractive – a pair of full, though thin well-shaped lips, a straight, elegant nose, and the coveted refined high cheekbones only prompted him to note with resignation that if the said musician were a woman, Sirius would have no qualms of bedding her and making her his. His gaze moved downwards, lingering appreciatively at what looked like a supple torso, with slightly muscular arms holding the guitar with the air of a skilled performer. Then his inspection came to a sudden halt as he felt himself drawing in a sharp intake of breath.

His hands. Long, willowy fingers with trimmed nails, angular yet almost feminine in their elegance. No doubt the pads of his fingers would be rough, as a man's digits should be, yet he could not resist the notion that perhaps this man had soft hands – like a woman's. It seemed as though anything the man held could take one's breath away. He held something with character, with a purpose, and with some sensuality that Sirius knew was natural.

Hearing the grating voice of his guest approaching, he tore his gaze away, away from those damned hands, and made a mental note to ask James who the musician was.

"Mr. Black," she began, lips curling into a suggestive smirk, "would you care to escort me home?"

He shook his head, frowning slightly at the unbecoming implication, and retorted, "No, that would be indecent of me. Allow me to arrange your transport home."

He beckoned for James, who sauntered towards them, and gave a slight nod.

"Miss Greengrass is ready to leave. Please arrange for her," he turned to said woman, offering an apologetic smile, "I do apologise, but your family would simply find it unacceptable."

Without another word, she strode past him, furious that her efforts for the entire night had been in vain.

He reclined once again in his seat, attention now pinned on the previous target. He was enthralled by the music, by the charming manner with which the lean man's fingers seemed to caress and cajoled the strings of the guitar.

"He's good, isn't he?" James sat across from him, now dressed in different attire. "Name's Lupin. Remus Lupin." He adjusted his spectacles, eyes unfocused but seemingly looking at Lupin as well.

"That's a strange name."

"Yeah, but he's a nice chap."

"How nice?"

"Why?" A teasing grin crept up his handsome face as he turned towards his face. "What's got your knickers in a bunch, Black?"

Sirius grunted in mock annoyance, though an impish grin betrayed his amusement. "He plays good music."

"Still don't see the connection here."

"That sad number, the one he played before…" He needn't finish.

"Oh, yeah. Gets me every time."

"Plays it all the time?" Sirius turned to him now, the gleam in his eyes revealing his curiosity.

"I don't know." James shrugged. "I'm not here all the time, you know. But yes, plays it when I'm here. Never misses to make me tear up a little."

"Ooh, ickle Jamesie bawling his eyes out, eh?" He teased.

"Oh, shut up. Not like you weren't about to anyway," he snapped back.

He laughed, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on the table, now more encouraged to tease the other man.

"Maybe that's why he's doing it. To see you cry, Prongs."

Surprisingly, his little joke succeeded in alarming the other man. "You don't say!" He turned to look at Lupin, terrified at the notion that the meek man could possibly be as scheming as Sirius made him out to be.

"You're an idiot sometimes, did you know that?" he chortled. "You can't be that daft, can you?"

"You don't know about him, Sirius," he turned back to his friend, unable to fathom whatever it was Lupin was thinking though he returned the gaze with a slight smile. "He's an intelligent man, and I wouldn't put it past him," he added thoughtfully, in a low voice that snapped Sirius out of his mirth.

"Oh?"

"He's wicked, I tell you," he raised his eyebrows for emphasis, nodding gravely, "I've been a victim of some … amusing pranks of his, when he's feeling particularly up to it."

"You? Victim? Now that's a man I'd like to meet!"

He grunted, reluctantly acknowledging Lupin's occasional upper hand over him. "If you say so, could always ask him to join us."

"Do."

"Aye, I will. Now get going, you great oaf." He stood up, realizing that it was time to head home to his fiancée. "You dropping by again tomorrow?"

Sirius grinned; standing up as well as he straightened his suit. "Yeah, and have him join us."

"Oh, he's not coming tomorrow," he replied, waving a hand dismissively.

"Why not?"

"Not his shift."

"Can't you call him?"

"Why?" he sneered at him, "You'd like a date?"

"So what if I wanted to?"

He snorted disbelievingly. "Don't have his number."

"Why not?"

"I may own this place, but I'm not completely involve in its operations, okay?"

"Still, you could at least get ahold of his number."

"You're just going to have to wait."

"Arse."

"Ponce."

"Git."

"Bastard."

"Insufferable berk."

"Get the hell out of here, Black."

"No one wants to stay near you, Potter."

"Get."

"Alright, alright, you nancy. No need to get you knickers in a twist."

"Yours are in a twist."

"Oh, shut up. I'm going."

"Alright. Take care and all that shite."

"Told you you were a nancy."

"OUT."

* * *

_So, what's the verdict? _

_It's the first time I'm writing an AU fic of Remus and Sirius, and of any sort of pairing actually.  
I haven't plan the other chapters in much detail, but there's at least something in the works.  
The story will be updated weekly, so drop a review (coz reviews are love, and you never know when they'll get a story uploaded faster),  
and put the story on alert. :)_

It's gonna be a hell of a ride. _  
_


	2. Chapter 2: Antithesis

**Unintended Intentions**

**Chapter 2: Antithesis  
**

Soft, measured footfalls crept up the wooden, creaky steps. A steadying hand grasped the banister; the other clutched the strap of a guitar bag, as the nimble figure advanced carefully towards his rooms. He inserted the key, turning the door knob as he stepped in cautiously and as quietly as possible into the hallway. A light snore from the sofa alerted him to an all-too-familiar presence in his flat. The door closed with a slight click, and he made his way to his bedroom, ignoring the short and plump figure sprawled luxuriously on the worn but comfortable sofa.

* * *

He had another engagement that evening - one that James would attend when summoned – though Sirius, being a distinguished bachelor with ample time at his disposal, was always required to attend. He was never coerced into joining, but he knew he was artfully made to feel obligated to do so. He growled in a low rumble, chagrined that he allowed himself to be manipulated in such a manner. Yet, if he didn't, there would be consequences – penalties he would rather much not be responsible for. And so, Sirius allowed his free times such as these be monopolised by the man.

He hailed a cab, a furious scowl marring his striking features, and gruffly announced his destination, before settling into his own thoughts. The journey to the intended location would provide him a liberal amount of time to contemplate on various matters he had been tasked to supervise.

* * *

Tonight was the same as any other night. Nothing outstanding – he knew and disregarded some appreciative listeners, and performed to the best of his abilities. None of his admiring audience were bothered enough to offer him an enticing proposal to perform professionally. Most were too absorbed in their own business dealings. Truth be told, he found that his pay and current stint at Emerald City rather adequate. He found satisfaction in his job, and was pleased with the flexibility that was awarded to him. This left him to his own devices on nights that were not on his shift.

He took off the guitar bag, positing the instrument against a wall by his nightstand. Deft fingers quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt, unbuckled his belt, and took off his smart, black trousers as he put on some comfortable nightclothes. Shiny, black leather shoes were kicked off gently, and then arranged by the door as he ambled towards his writing desk by the window. Sheaves of paper were organized neatly in a folder; his elegant, distinctive writing illuminated by a rusty, metal desk lamp. He sat down, and began writing zealously, the sounds of the nib of a fountain pen scratching on the surface of a paper soothing his spent nerves.

* * *

It was about a half hour long journey, and the heavy downpour did nothing to lift his agitation. He paid the cab driver generously, ignoring the profuse exclamations of gratefulness, and struck the knocker three times. The ornately designed oak door swung opened, a faint groan from the hinges making him glare at his greeter, also his host. An impeccably dressed tall, man with silvery hair and a tidily trimmed beard, whose nose appeared to be broken twice, stood before him, a quivering, amused smile tugging at the ends of his lips as he saw the irate young man.

"One would think you loathe keeping an old man company, Mr Black," the older man noted casually, stepping behind to let Sirius in, eyes twinkling in the dimly-lit hallway.

"Your Highness, we both know I dearly relish our scant amount of time together," Sirius replied, voice dangerously low and dripping with sarcasm, grey eyes still ablaze with annoyance. He had nothing to fear, especially if the old man – on better days, his mind would happily oblige with the proper title of the King, but not today – was in a good mood.

"Ah, that's good!" He rubbed his hands, glee now permeating his calm demeanour, "Let us adjourn to the drawing room, shall we?"

He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath about something that faintly resembled a colourful epithet that he thought would best describe the invitation. They always had their nightly discussions in the drawing room, and he saw no need for repetition of such a request.

* * *

The occasional owl-hoots and barking broke into his train of thoughts, disturbing him out of his reverie. He put his pen down, rubbing his face as he stifled a yawn, and stretched. It was time to sleep, he decided, as he gave a quick glance at the clock on the wall, hands showing that it was almost three o'clock. He stood up, and staggered towards his double bed, engulfed with comfort as his cream-colored duvet wrapped him in warmth. He needn't set the alarm clock, knowing that his body would automatically be awake by nine o'clock. Six hours of rest was sufficient, even for a busy day he was about to endure later.

* * *

"What news do you bring from the Continent?"

Both men sipped quietly on their brandy, seated opposite each other by the fireplace. Sirius stared into the fire, watching the flames licking the logs, crackling loudly as they sat in silence.

"Apart from the usual mischiefs, there are murmurs of an uprising."

"Please elaborate."

"I don't have enough details, yet."

"There is urgency in the matter?"

"Could just be rumours," he replied, dismissing the notion.

"Do look into it."

He turned towards the older man, eyebrows raised and a corner of his mouth raised in a smirk. "You aren't possibly taking this seriously, are you?"

The King unfurled his clasped fingers, directing his gaze steadily into the mirthless grey eyes before him. "What is that saying?" His light tone barely hiding the serious consideration he was giving the problem, "Is it that if there's smoke, there's fire?"

For a moment, Sirius looked mutinous, and then nodded slowly, understanding the care with which he had to address the problem. "I'll have word by a fortnight."

"Godspeed, Mr Black," his voice still a calm tenor, a gentle smile now spreading across his face, "And have a pleasant evening." The elder man stood up, his regal stature rivalling Sirius' own proud posture.

"Good evening to you too, Your Majesty," he replied softly, bowing slightly as he quickly made his way out.

_God save the King._

_

* * *

_

_Short, shorter than the first. It's time to pick up the pace.  
I did say I'd update weekly, but I couldn't resist writing this chapter. _  
_And yes, cookies to those of you who can guess the King's identity correctly._

_As always, reviews are love, please shower me with them. :)  
Thanks for reading! Updates will come in about a week's time. :)  
It's still Monday, see? Hee. Alrighty. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
And hopefully, the format isn't too confusing. FF completely bollocksed the divider thing. argh.  
_


	3. Chapter 3: Anamnesis

**Unintended Intentions**

**Chapter 3: Anamnesis**

_Pál__ would _not _stop fidgeting. The nervous tic crept up to his fingers, as he drummed his fingers on the varnished, slightly ridged surface of the table. He tapped his foot impatiently, eyes looking out the window for signs that his client would appear soon. His mood wasn't improved in the least, especially not with the cheerless grey clouds obstructing the warm beam from the sun. If he wasn't paid generously for his services, he would have trudged back to his derelict quarters. _

_Little did he know he was being watched. A pair of grey eyes watched him, the beholder amused at the man's twitching and slight trembles. He stood up, head held high, mouth curled in a pleasant, mirthless smile. He strode quietly, clasping a hand on the said man's shoulder, receiving a very, very violent jerk as __Pál whipped his head round to see him. His eyes widened, jaw slackened, and cheeks flushed as he blustered out words of relief, protestation and annoyance. _

"_Come now, Pál," his suave manners comforting the smaller man a little, "tell me."_

_His eyes scanned the room swiftly, inconspicuously. _

_The Duke, seated across from him, leaned casually forward, unperturbed by the man's paranoia. He had inspected the place before Pál arrived, and found that things were in order. Nothing stuck out to him as suspicious. Still, he didn't mind if Pál wanted some peace of mind for himself._

"_The trading ports are unusually active," he began, in a low voice._

"_For how long?"_

"_It's been about five months now."_

"_The goods?"_

"_Unknown."_

"_Your suspicions?"_

"_I'm not sure what to think."_

"_What do the rumours say then?"_

"_Men."_

"_Ah. Anymore?"_

"_The… nobles."_

"_What about them?" _

"_My sources are… usually accurate, sire."_

"_So?"_

"_They say that they are being … turned."_

"_Into?"_

"_They don't know. They know something's amiss."_

"_Surely it's not about the thrones again."_

"_Partly, I think. The other part…" He shook his head, unwilling to divulge his fear on the matter._

"_Very well. Anymore?"_

"_There is. One more thing." He paused, uncharacteristic fear clouding his usually clear blue eyes as he stared into hard, unfathomable grey ones. "Uprising. Just rumours, though."_

"_You don't sound so sure."_

"_It's just… not on this scale."_

"_Elaborate."_

"_Lithuania, Bulgaria, Albania, Slovenia, and even Georgia."_

"_Fascinating."_

"_Fascinating, sir?"_

"_Very." With a dismissive nod, he stood up, left some money to pay for their meal, and said in a loud voice. "I'm afraid I would have to take action against her."_

"_My lord?" Pál looked at him, bewildered. "What- what are you talking about?"_

_He gave a derisive snort, lips curling in a sneer, "I can't have that worthless wife eloping with my footman now, can I?"_

_Eyes turned to him, some mouths agaped, some smiling pityingly._

_And with that, he left._

Sirius let out a low chuckle. Pál certainly wouldn't understand why he had done that, nor would he ever. He thought it had been a good idea. After all, what business did a well-dressed gentleman – obviously a foreign noble – have in a seedy pub with a common man? Best to leave a false impression than none at all. At the very least, no unwanted ears would pick up on his appearance in that area.

He glanced outside the window, staring at the lightening sky as the sun began to rise. He was on his way back to his townhouse in the city, and was mulling over his conversation with the king. Usual mischiefs meant the nobles fighting internally for a chance at the throne. He'd never understood that. He turned back to the cabbie, ordering him to take a longer route. He needed time to think.

_The melancholic melody continued to percolate into the recesses of his mind. He could feel its invisible tendrils curling and latching onto some of the worst memories he thought were secure beneath his guise of insouciance and liveliness. It tugged, persistently, until he was forced to relive the memory that still pained him the most – his brother's scandal._

_The mournful strain continued, arching into a crescendo as he recalled his denial of his beloved brother's involvement, his abject acceptance of the fact and his explosive outrage at the blatant lack of justice during the trial. It seemed that his brother's fate plunged right out of his hands before he could even blink. It was an abomination, he thought, his anger nearly bubbling to the surface now as the wretched tune continued, and he realized where he was. His knuckles were white from him gripping the edge of the table so hard. _

_He wilfully tuned out the dangerous song, eyes now focused on the musician instead. His hands. His hands, if he would admit it even to himself, attracted him. Those fingers. Delicate, smooth –_

"We're here, sir."

He lurched, startled out of his thoughts – still haunted by thoughts of the man. He paid a good sum for the cabbie's trouble, and got out. He stood on the front steps, glancing up as he contemplated getting sleep. It was already morning. There was no need for sleep, he decided, and unlocked the door. He followed the narrow hallway down to the staircase at the end, climbing up towards his room to wash up before heading out again.

As he sifted through his many extravagant garments, he chose a plain, black trousers with a cotton, white shirt. He'd wear something simple today, something that wouldn't make the heads of common men turn around and their eyes suspiciously scrutinise his origins.

He was ready in less than ten minutes, and as he locked the door, he decided to head east – for the market.

**OOO**

Bright rays streamed through the window, causing him to shift away, opening his eyes slowly. After a few stretches, he clambered out of bed, washing up and dressing up swiftly before going out into the living room.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up, you lazy sod." A calm, disapproving remark came from a plump man seated near the window, eyes glancing up at him, as hands held the newspaper.

"I suppose you didn't bother making yourself breakfast?" he asked, glancing at the empty table before turning to observe his companion.

"You've got nothing to eat," he replied bluntly, rolling his eyes before continuing with his reading.

"Perhaps you'd care to purchase something then?" He wasn't the least bit bothered by the man's lack of manners.

"Haven't got the money, I'm afraid," he countered, coolly.

Remus shrugged, sneering a little, before answering with a casual, "Suit yourself."

He ignored the now panicky man, putting on his coat and retrieving an umbrella from under the table.

"You're not buying?"

"We both know you can afford a loaf of bread, Peter, _at the very least."_

Peter winced. His friend was not in a good mood today.

"Well, I –"

"I don't want to hear anymore excuse of you losing your latest job again."

"But it's true!"

"The truth, when in your hands, becomes almost imaginary."

"Are you saying I'm lying?"

"No, Peter, I'm saying that you're really not pulling your weight here." He turned to him, eyes boring into the other man's pair of terrified ones, his mouth set in a stern straight line as he allowed his remark to sink in a little more.

"But you're earning enough for the both of us."

With that, he snapped.

"I'm afraid I would have to inform my landlady that a strange, unemployed man has cunningly slipped into my rooms, and –"

"You want me to move out?" He asked, incredulous at the implication.

"Precisely."

"But why?"

"You're not paying for the rent. Never even offered to, if I recall."

"It's that Potter, isn't it?"

At the mention of his benefactor's name, his tone took a hard edge. "This is about _you_. Grow up, Pettigrew," he softened, noticing the man was now near tears, "I might not even be around anymore someday."

"What are you talking about?"

"Suppose I got ambushed behind an alleyway, and got stabbed, and never made it home…"

"Don't!" Peter had jumped up now, throwing himself at Remus, hugging him fiercely. "Don't say that!"

"It's a possibility, you know." He made no move to comfort the man.

"But I don't want you to –"

"The universe does not operate on your wants and needs, you know."

"I don't care! I –"

"Stop it." He wrenched himself free from the embrace, stepping back as he struggled to keep his disgust beneath the condescending smile.

"Remus, I – "

He held up a hand, shaking his head. "Not another word from you."

Peter turned away, lips trembling as he tried to fight off the tears.

"Either you get out of here, get your own place and live properly for once, or you get out, get a job, pay your share, and you can stay."

He turned back to him, about to thank him for the charitable choice he was given, but stopped midway of his speech.

"I'm going out. Possibly not returning for at least a fortnight. Take care." He left him in shock, heading towards the door. His first stop would be the market, and he turned the doorknob, mind already turning a deaf ear to the cries of objection coming from his 'housemate'.

He strode briskly, shoulders relaxed, though he was alert of his surroundings. Seeing that it was too early for the streets to be filled with thieving children, he allowed himself to relax more.

_No one spared him a glance. Not even the children. If they had even slowed their steps, their nannies would pull them forward, admonishing them in hushed tones about the dangerous man who stood there, unmoving. They would then turn around to look at him, unable to comprehend how a musician playing a cheerful tune could be dangerous. He looked rather harmless, they always thought. He never bothered to prove to them anything, and went on playing his songs, murmuring thanks and pleasantries at passerbys who did spare him a coin or two, and if he was lucky, a note. _

He crossed the street, hands in pocket, eyes staring ahead. He used to play here, along this pavement.

"_You're jolly good, you know that?"_

_He glanced up, mid-song, a startled look on his handsome face._

"_I beg your pardon?"_

"_I said," the bespectacled man with unruly hair grinned down at him (he was a good four inches taller) reiterated pleasantly, "You're jolly good, did you know that?"_

_He wished he had more composure, more of that suave manner that the other man had. He wished he hadn't stammered and stuttered and stumbled upon his words. _

"_Er, th-th-thank you, you're very k-k-kind."_

_His brown eyes now looked pityingly at him. "Would you like to play at my restaurant then?"_

"_WHAT?"_

_He laughed heartily, enjoying the effect he had on Remus. "What's your name? Come with me, I'd like you to play at my restaurant."_

"_I'm Remus," he stared at him, dumbfounded at the turn of events, as his hands numbly began to pack up, his mind still reeling from shock. "Remus Lupin."_

"_That's a strange name you got there." He stuck out a hand. "I'm James Potter."_

He couldn't resist the small smile as he remembered how James had saved his life. It was not an exaggeration, as Remus Lupin was never a man given to hyperboles and melodrama. In fact, on that day when James came up to him as he played his woeful song, he had decided to end it all.

He agreed to work for him – as though he would've chosen otherwise – and was rather pleased to be given so much flexibility with his working hours. He'd flourished, both as a musician and an employee, cementing Emerald City's success as a current, fashionable restaurant in the city. Pity became respect. Mutual respect.

The familiar cacophony reached his ears, and he looked up, now on alert as he began browsing the market.

**OOO**

He arrived in good time, he noted, and began looking around, warily, as he entertained himself in the variety of merchandise sold.

**OOO**

He stopped at a particular stall selling miscellaneous trinkets. Some had esoteric designs, while others were obviously for fashion. An ugly necklace caught his eye, its hideous pendant jarring all sense of beauty. It was a woodcut of a wolf eating a prey, perhaps human – he held it up closer, ignoring the furious look of the seller, and scrutinized the design – yes, it was human. Still, it didn't warrant enough interest for him to purchase it, he decided, as he casually turned the pendant over.

His throat went dry, as he stared hard at the symbol. It was tribal symbol of a wolf, fangs bared, lips curled in a snarl.

_He treaded softly, overhearing some hushed exchange of words in the alley. He sneaked a look, heart furiously thumping against his ribcage, and saw two men. One of them held a small packet, black with a red symbol on it. He strained his eyes to make out the design clearly. It was tribal design, of an animal of some sort. A cat? His eyes trailed down to the man's arm, the same tribal design tattooed to his forearm, though larger. It was a wolf, with bared fangs and a vicious snarl. He let out a soft gasp, clamping his mouth with a hand when he realized his mistake, retreating back into the building when he heard the men stopped their conversation, and heading his way._

**OOO**

He stopped, mouth slightly agape as he stared hard at the familiar figure. He began walking towards him, until he was near enough, and accidentally blurted, "You."

**OOO**

He snapped out of his reverie, and turned to the source of the voice, eyebrows furrowed when he realized that he didn't recognize the man.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm sorry," he apologized calmly, "I know you."

"Do you now?" he arched an eyebrow, lips curling in a smirk.

"Yes, you're Remus Lupin."

He bit back a cry of surprise, shocked that the man knew his name. How did he-

"You play at Emerald City," he explained, now smiling, "and I got to know your name."

"Oh. I see," he eyed him guardedly, apprehensive at the direction their conversation was going. He dropped the necklace back into the pile of trinkets, earning a glare from the seller.

Sirius noticed this, and also noted the design of the pendant, immediately realizing the significance of the design. This was no common customer of strange ornaments. He knew _something._ _Someone._ He knew enough to scrutinise the necklace in the first place.

Remus had already begun walking away from him, unwilling to subject himself to any questioning, and certainly not from a stranger. He caught up to him, grinning when he saw the other man's suspicious glance at his sudden company.

"I thought perhaps you would care to teach me," Sirius began smoothly, smiling that charming smile he usually reserved for wheedling trust from people.

Remus didn't bother replying immediately, but continued studying his face, and _that smile_. He knew immediately what the other man wanted.

"I am not interested in being your… illicit companion," he replied, hiding his surprise when he saw the other man's shocked expression as it quickly turned to one of anger.

"I wasn't talking about that. I'm not even – how could you-"

"Right. Farewell." He had had enough. It was time for the next thing on his agenda – an important appointment he had to attend.

"Wait, Remus! Wait!" Sirius called out, to no avail. He didn't bother following. He'd have to ask James for his help.

**OOO**

It was an abandoned, derelict building. Used to be a textile factory, before they closed it down due to the owner's bankruptcy.

"Good afternoon, Remus."

"This is rather… clichéd, isn't it?"

"Ah. But of course, it serves a purpose."

"Surely you could have chosen a better place, with just as much seclusion."

"That would be out of your way, I presume."

"Oh?"

"And entirely inconvenient to you."

"Point taken."

The other man stepped out of the shadows, sunlight glinting off his half-moon spectacles as his penetrating blue eyes rested a serene gaze on Remus.

"The answer lies in the east, Remus."

"When do I leave?"

"Tonight, aboard the _HMS Hermes._"

"Aptly named."

"Thank you, I did think it was rather suitable." He held out a suitcase and a travelling coat. "These are for you, I took the liberty of selecting your clothes for you."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"You're very much welcomed."

He turned to leave, knowing the full details of his mission were enclosed in the suitcase now in his hands.

"Oh, and I shall be sending you a partner."

He turned around, alarmed at the idea. "I don't need one."

"No, for this you must accept one."

"Very well. And who is he?"

"An esteemed gentleman. Perhaps you've met him already," the King replied, an amused smile playing on his lips and Remus knew that he wasn't getting anything out of him. Not when the King thought it amusing to be cryptic.

"Bon voyage, and take care."

"I will, Your Highness. So should you."

**OOO**

"You did botch it up."

"Yes, yes, I know."

"Well, he's not going to be around for about two weeks."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure. Something about a sick relative somewhere."

"Could be a lie."

"And why should he?"

"He could be an agent for _him._"

"Nonsense."

"James, think about it," he began.

"Ridiculous, Sirius."

"But –"

"Let's not talk about that anymore for now."

"Fine."

"So, you're to be in Hungary for two weeks?"

"Around there."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. The old man –"

"Are you even allowed to call him that?"

"He's not here is he?"

"Right. Go on."

"He told me I'm there to assist one of his men."

"For what?"

"Information. Usual."

"Oh. Should've known."

"Yeah. So, I'll be back in two weeks' time."

"Right. Good luck, old chap."

"Don't cry for me."

"Don't worry, I shan't bother."

"Good. Send my love to Harry for me."

"I will."

* * *

**A/N: **So... _progress_, eh? Review please! :D


	4. Chapter 4: Adumbration

**Unintended Intentions**

**Chapter 4: Adumbration **

"_Come here and join me, Remus," he invited, a genial smile brightening up his pleasant features. He gestured towards an empty chair across him. _

_Remus hesitated for a moment, hand fiddling his guitar strap, eyes darting towards the door and the other man. With an apologetic smile, he sat. _

"_And to what do I owe this honour, sir?"_

"_Oh, you can't be all stiff and polite with me, old friend!" He slapped him hard on the back, chuckling merrily as he watched Remus sputter and gather his wits._

"_Then how do I address you?" He asked, fear and nervousness seeping into his voice as he watched him in confusion._

_He was astounded. _

"_By my name, of course!" He exclaimed, looking at him with such an incredulous expression. _

_He turned away, staring at the table as he began saying his name; as though his tongue was trying on foreign assemble of consonants and vowels. "J-James?" He asked nervously, peering at the said person with such want for approval that James was torn between roaring in laughter at the ridiculousness of it all and giving him a gentle, sympathetic pat on the back_

"_Yeah, that's right. Just call me that!" He beamed, flashing a toothy grin so infectious that Remus reciprocated with a slow, shaky one of his own._

"_But you're my employer."_

"_Ah, but calling me Mr Potter won't get my attention, you see."_

_He looked up, confused._

_James grinned, eyes twinkling in amusement. _

"_People used to call my dad that," he shrugged, and continued, "And I sort of associated that with him. Everybody else just calls me James." _

"_Oh."_

"_Yeah." He looked around, beckoning for the bartender for two pints of ale. He turned back to Remus, who looked rather alarmed. He furrowed his eyebrows, a little concerned. "What's wrong, Remus?"_

"_Er, well, I –"_

"_It's on the house, if that's what you're thinking," he finished for him, noticing the way the guitarist cast a quick look into his breast pockets. _

"_But-"_

"_That's alright, my good man." He shrugged, jerking his head towards the bar as he explained further, "You work here now, so food and drinks are on the house."_

_By now, Remus was flabbergasted, and croaked, "Why?"_

"_We pull in enough customers, and what sort of a boss am I if I can't provide for my workers?" There was something about his nonchalance that alerted Remus, and he kept quiet, though still kept his eyes on James, who looked at the bartender who was now entertaining a customer. _

"_Found Frank in an alley one day," he began, after a few moments of silence, "All bruised and in a really bad shape." He turned to Remus, a sad smile gracing his features. "Got mugged of his life's savings, then some punks came and took the mickey out of him for fun."_

_He could only gasp. _

_James turned away again, this time settling his gaze on one of the waitresses. "Dorcas Meadowes. Ran away from home, dad was a drunkard. Boyfriend sucked the life and shillings out of her. That was two years ago."_

_He didn't need to say it, and Remus knew what lay underneath those stories. Nowhere else to go. He clenched his jaw, felt as though something squeezed his heart and pushed against his lungs that he suddenly found it hard to breathe. _

"_So what's your story, Remus?"_

_He jerked his head up, staring straight into brown eyes gazing at him, trying to penetrate his tense demeanour. It was a while before he found his voice and spoke up._

"_Dad got killed," he balled up his fists, "By a drug addict. Prick didn't get caught. Mum died not long after."_

"_You sure that's all?"_

He jerked violently; eyes flew open as he sat up on his bed, clutching his chest as his breath came in rapid and short bursts. He looked up at the source of the loud sound, and stared in a dazed confusion at the man before him.

"Oh, what are you doing here?" He asked, peering at him inquisitively, and Remus strained harder to see him.

The voice. He could never have mistaken it anywhere, and he narrowed his eyes at the stranger, suddenly realizing that he could be a spy.

"What are _you_ doing here?" He retorted, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

The dark-haired man threw his head back in laughter, and shrugged nonchalantly as he made his way to the other bed. "Obviously en route to Hungary, of course."

"Oh? Did you not follow me here or something just to _teach_ you?"

"My, you're rather prickly, aren't you?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"Well, no, I didn't follow you. You were gone when I attempted to, though."

"Good."

"Do you have that sort of ardent admirers?"

"Plenty before you."

"I'm not _that_ sort of admirer."

"Oh how the raven lies."

"You should do some soul-searching. You just might find one," he retorted, as he seated himself at the edge of his own bed.

Remus snorted in reply, and got up to organize his papers and hide them from the stranger. He felt the other's eyes on him, watching him as he shuffled the pictures. It was unsettling, at the very least. He detested this watchful fellow. The task he was assigned this time could prove to be rather tricky. He would have to take extra precautions, he noted, as his eyes flickered over to the stranger, meeting a pair of grey eyes staring unabashedly at him. He took a deep breath as he averted his gaze to his papers, relieved that at least his reports were encrypted.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" Sirius asked, finally speaking out after the sudden silence settled on them. He tried gauging the other man's reaction, though judging from his impassive mask, he was clearly adamant at being enigmatic with him. His lips curled in an amused smile; apparently approving this sort of little game that he knew the other man had no intention of playing.

Remus took his time to answer, carefully keeping his expression blank. It was best, he thought, if the stranger did not know that he was giving the matter a serious consideration that it certainly should not be given. If he did agree to have dinner with him, it would be a splendid opportunity to gauge just where did the stranger stand to gain by following him around. If he did not, then he would be without that slight advantage, _yet_ he would not need to spend a significant amount of time in agony – just to bear with the man's presence.

He let out an audible sigh, eyes half-lidded as he directed a lazy gaze at him. "Perhaps," he murmured, apparently loud enough as the black-haired man now grinned at him. "Only if you do not bother me."

Sirius chuckled, shrugging casually as he stood up and made his way to the door. "Very well, then. I'll see you at six. Good day, Remus," he purred, throwing a charming - and infuriating, as the recipient glared at his audacity - smile as he glanced back at the man.

He did not reply, and merely slammed the stack of paper on the desk. The man was obviously one of _those men,_ he concluded, despite all the claims otherwise. To add on to _that_ _blasted_ fact, he was also rather calculating. Remus would have to have to form his own staunch defence against his subtle, shrewd advances. He wondered for a moment, if perhaps this unlikely and ill-timed appearance of the stranger would be worth a mention in his reports, though he quickly brushed it off with a contemptuous snort. The King would have a laughing fit had he known just how rattled Remus was with this man.

The King.

Ah. He would have to compile the various aspects of his findings, now that he was alone. He seated himself, and began writing.

**OOO**

Sirius smirked, rather pleased with himself as he thought of the morning's progress. His artful manner of exuding his charm on the unsuspecting female population on the ship gained him delicious morsels of news. They were surprisingly willing to share their bit of knowledge, even at the slightest persuasion on his part. He suspected that their husbands' prolonged inattentiveness only served to irate them further. At the thought of their irateness, his mind wandered spontaneously to his cabin mate.

He leaned against the railing, letting the gentle sea breeze unsettle his long, black hair as he gazed out on the open sea. Remus Lupin. He was truly an enigma. To Sirius, anything or anyone that he considered to be a riddle or puzzle should be solved. By hook or by crook, he would crack the code, so to speak. Yet, this new fellow was so unlike those before him. Sirius could not help but to heed that nagging feeling that this one had many more depths to him than he previously thought.

He grinned, now standing erect as he made his way to the captain's cabin for a private luncheon. For now, he would leave Remus and resume his duties as was ordered. He had a reputation to keep.

**OOO**

_Dearest Remus, my good and loyal friend,_

_Aboard the ship you will find your partner. He has been in my service for as long as you have, if not longer. There is no need to question his loyalty, despite his many, many flaws that you will no doubt find to be of hindrance to you. His various skills are impressive at best, and his assistance in your task is crucial. Therefore, I implore you to gather your abundant patience and grace to tolerate his misgivings, which may prove trying on you, of course. _

_On the seventh day aboard the ship, you are to meet him at the main deck of the ship, starboard side. Remember to leave the white gloves in your side pocket visible, as he is also instructed to watch out for it. When he has shown you his symbol, only then may you show yours. Please refrain from interviewing the people aboard, as it is his task to do so. You are to observe and report on anyone and everyone you deem to have some pertinence in your task. _

_Godspeed, and may you find fortune in your task._

It was unsigned, as usual. When he had finished transcribing the message in his private code, he took out a lighter, and began burning the original message. With such an inquisitive cabin mate, leaving such a message would be his undoing. At the thought of the exasperating man, he looked at the wall clock, noting that it was now teatime. Two more hours until torture. He sighed, and continued writing his report.

**OOO**

He didn't return to his cabin after the long lunch with the captain. Instead, he sought out the quietest, secluded place on the ship and went there to collect his thoughts and organize the information he had acquired so far. The only place he thought suitable was the kitchen. The cook and several assistants were present, but they ignored him in favour of performing their tasks zealously. There was always so much to be done in the kitchen. Almost unending.

He sat at a table in the corner, where the light was dimmer, and let his gaze settle on the repetitive actions of a kitchen hand peeling some potatoes.

"_Sirius Orion Black!" A shrill shriek reverberated throughout Grimmauld Place. _

"_Yes, mother?" He replied contemptuously, not bothering to pretend._

_She ignored his petulance, and went on, "You are to assume your duties as the Heir, now that your father is deceased."_

_She took out a bundle of papers, and he narrowed his eyes when he caught sight of the word 'contract'. _

"_Sign that," she spat, her mouth set in a disapproving sneer as she observed just how substandard her firstborn had turned out to be. He could almost see her thoughts, as he met her eyes in a defiant stare, grey eyes staring coldly into a pair of black ones. _

"_I refuse." He pushed it away from him, still staring at her. It had begun. _

"_Oh, so the mudblood finally shows his true colours!" She laughed shrilly._

_He winced at the high and cruel laugh, knowing the worst was yet to come. "I'm not a mudblood."_

_She stopped laughing, abruptly, and glared at him for a moment before speaking in a low, dangerous voice. "Cavorting off with those Potters –sympathisers of filth."_

_He narrowed his eyes at her, jaw clenched and arms stiff, by his sides. He did not answer._

"_Mingling and breathing the same air as those scum," she sneered, and they both knew she needn't mention their names._

"_Say what you like, but I won't sign it," he replied coolly, more confident than what he actually felt._

"_Then you shall be disowned." She tried to keep the tremors of anger out of her voice, but to no avail. Her arms were stiff against her sides, fists already clenched as she tried to refrain herself from striking him. _

"_Then so be it."_

"_Out."_

_And he left._

He took out a necklace, a beautifully-carved locket hanging from it. It had been a gift, from his deceased brother, when he was sent to public school. He opened it, caressing a picture of two similar-looking boys standing next to each other, both half-embracing the other as they smiled at the camera.

He smiled bitterly at the thought of Regulus, almost immersing himself in more bitter memories when a voice yelled at him, making him jump slightly in his seat.

"Oi, you! Get outta here! It's almost dinner time, and I'll be damned if you're going to kip there and get in our way!" The cook looked angrily at him, face flushed as he now approached Sirius. He got up, smiled cordially in apology and made his way out.

His next target: Remus Lupin. _Intriguing_ fellow.

**OOO**

He looked up, eyes narrowed as he chewed on the savoury filet mignon. The man was uncharacteristically quiet, and this only made Remus all the more suspicious. Just as the man looked up, he averted his gaze and concentrated fully on slicing his meat perfectly in quiet, clean slices. He could feel the man now returning the gaze, though with some subdued intensity. He was not going to succumb to his charms.

"Well, you'd rather talk to your beef, don't you?" He could hear the light sneer, but ignored it anyway.

"It is a more pleasant company."

"Then I feel sorry for you." He looked up, sharply, almost glaring at the man, who now held an amused smile.

"_I don't need your pity_," he hissed, stabbing the meat viciously now.

The man leaned forward, abandoning the meal now as he rested his chin so elegantly on one hand.

"Why not?" He asked, innocent curiosity laced in his tone.

He stopped attacking his broccoli, all actions halted abruptly as he raised his head to meet his dinner partner's curious stare. He opened his mouth to answer, but no words were formed. No one had asked him that before. The question was just... just _absurd!_

Silence overcame them, slowly, and heavily. Neither of them spoke a word, nor moved.

"Well, I suppose we've had enough. Have a good evening, Remus," he got up, bowed slightly, and left. His gaze followed the man making his way out of the dining room, before he too got up and decided that it was time to retire to bed.

**OOO**

Mr Black – Remus had heard him introduce himself to a few besotted young ladies – had not continued their line of conversation, nor did he strove to make life any more difficult for Remus. This made him a little appreciative of the man's consideration, and slightly guilty for judging him earlier. They exchanged quick pleasantries whenever they met, but it never went further than that. In fact, as Remus observed, it seemed as though Mr Black was a completely new persona. He was usually up before Remus was, and he would return much, much later in the night to the cabin – always taking care not to rouse him, but Remus' sharp hearing could always catch the faintest rustle of clothes and bed sheet and the slight click of a closing door.

Still, the mysterious change of his cabin mate was the least of his problems. He had been compiling various observations of the people aboard the ship, and still had not found any sign of his supposed partner. He groaned, rubbing his tired eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to go over the names and faces he had found out. None seemed plausible. Whoever it was that His Majesty had assigned to him was surely a very formidable and stealthy man.

Speaking of said man – he sat up suddenly, eyes wide in realization – it was the seventh day.

**OOO**

He walked about the main deck cautiously, watching the starboard side for signs of a man standing alone. There were many, though none seemed to be expecting company. He sighed, and leaned against the rail, hand in his pocket as it fiddled with the lid of the pocket watch idly. A flurry of movement caused him to turn swiftly, and he saw a flash of brown hair, and his eyes automatically darted over to the pockets when his breath got caught in his throat. For the moment, he was stunned, feet planted stubbornly on the ground as he watched the other figure stand nervously near a rail.

_Remus Lupin_.

**OOO**

He bit his lip, glancing at his watch every now and then as he checked the time. There was no appointed time, but he knew that time is of the essence, especially if they were to establish a connection. He bit his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed as he willed himself to look as pensive as possible as he looked out to the sea.

"Good afternoon, Remus."

He rolled his eyes inwardly, cursing mentally as he recognised the source of that voice. Of all days to start speaking to him again, he had to choose such an inopportune time. Nevertheless, he turned around, a very stiff smile plastered on.

"Good evening, Mr Black. I'm afraid I'd have to-" He paused, eyes now seeing the Royal Insignia on the inside lid of the pocket watch that Mr Black had taken out. Wordlessly, he pulled the right sleeve up, showing a guitar pick bearing the same symbol, attached to a brown leather cuff bracelet. They regarded each other for a moment, before Black broke into a smile, and extended his hand. Remus took it, though still speechless.

"You can call me Sirius, Remus."

"Er, I …"

"Perhaps it's best if we discussed in our quarters?"

"Yes, yes, you're right."

"But of course," he replied easily, earning a glare from his cabin mate, now his missions partner.

_All was well_.

**A/N: **I'm so, so sorry for posting this so late! Life got really busy all of a sudden, and I didn't have the time. Anyway, I hope the long read was worth it. Every chapter has a title which becomes the theme for the entire chapter. For this one, it's **Adumbration**_, _a fancy word for Discovery. I will get cracking on the next chapter to keep on schedule. I'm already 2 chapters behind, aren't I? Anyway, hope you enjoy this one.

So, please, Read & Review! Thanks very much!


	5. Chapter 5: Crepuscule

**Unintended Intentions  
Chapter 5: Crepuscule**

"_WHY ME?" _

His lips twitch, suppressing bubbles of laughter.

"_Long-suffering, loyal, ever-ready...and… and…"_

He was about to offer a word, but stopped when the speaker picked up his flow again.

"_Perfect record, astoundingly effectual service…"_

His eyebrows arched.

"_What sort of assistance is this?"_

He bit his lip.

"_Bungling, incorrigible, incompetent…"_

His grin widened, trembled.

"_Arrogant, insufferable, homosexual…"_

He coughed slightly, and stiffened when he saw a venomous glare thrown his way.

"_OUTRAGEOUS!" _He threw his hands up, finally finishing his hissed tirade, and glared at detestable man whom His Majesty thought to be a suitable partner for his mission.

Sirius was just about to explain when Remus prowled towards him, eyes narrowed into slits. He braced himself for the worst, expecting a punch to the face. Instead, he felt a sharp jab on his chest, and he opened his eyes, seeing the other man snarling at him. He fought back a laugh.

"If you bugger up this operation," he hissed again, punctuating every word with a sharp jab, "I will see to it that you will never see the light of day."

"Yes, of course, my dear Remus," he purred, grinning as the man now withdrew in exaggerated exasperation.

"I AM NOT YOURS!"He roared, chest heaving heavily as though he would like to maul Sirius to pieces.

"Yes, yes, of course."

He kept his disposition relaxed, hoping that the other man would at least follow suit somehow. Since returning to their cabin, Remus had launched into a hissing tirade, particularly because they knew they did not have the luxury of privacy. As such, he had been pacing around in a circle, gestures dramatic as he bemoaned his wretched situation.

"Alright."

"You good?"

"Yes, much better."

"Splendid."

"Now where were we?"

"Well-"

Someone rapped hard on the door before announcing in a loud voice, "We're docking in about an hour's time, two hours earlier than expected!"

"I suppose we'll resume another time then," Remus suggested, resigned to his circumstances.

Sirius nodded, laughing softly at his colleague.

**OOO**

"Gentlemen, your rooms are on the ninth floor, and if you would follow Lajos here –" He gestured towards a short, stocky boy of at least eighteen years old, who nodded and smiled warmly at them, "He will lead you to your rooms."

"Thank you very much, Monsieur Konrád." Sirius smiled amiably at him, earning a beaming one in return, and signalled to Remus to follow suit.

Remus nodded in response, assuming his role as a manservant – a role that he had fallen into just as naturally as Sirius had assumed his role of being an illustrious nobleman. The elevator ride up was quiet, but the silent atmosphere lacked tension as Sirius affected it with his own warmth, by smiling congenially from time to time and humming tunelessly as though he cherished the peace within the small company.

He, on the other hand, did not bother saying a word, but kept his stature erect and poised, as he thought would befit a competent butler of a reputable household. How they had so intuitively adopted their respective characters, he did not know. It bewildered him, yet assured him somehow that perhaps the King had indeed made the right choice of choosing this man as his temporary colleague. He had never felt at ease working with another operative, yet with this infuriating man, he was somehow confident that things would turn out right. He mulled over this little conundrum as they were led to their rooms. The bellboy was tipped generously, he noticed. He turned away quickly when he caught grey eyes studying him quietly, still flustered by the amount of attention the man was bestowing on him.

"See you tomorrow at breakfast?" Sirius asked pleasantly.

He grunted in reply, and quickly let himself into the room, ignoring the man. The first thing he did was to lock his door, and to seek out the connecting door that linked his room to Sirius'. He was just about to lock it when the door swung wide open, its blunt edge knocking his forehead hard.

"OW!" He clutched his forehead, trying to rub the throbbing pain away.

"I'm sorry," Sirius began, but was stopped short when the man shot him a glare, pausing in his exclamations of pain.

"I am locking this door!"

"You can't do that."

"I will not have you barging in like you are now, and…and…"

"And possibly helping you should you be in a dire situation?" He finished good-naturedly.

He huffed. Sirius could imagine the cogs whirring actively in his mind, and grinned affably when his partner turned to him in reluctant compromise.

"Very well."

"Good!"

"But don't come in here willy-nilly."

"Certainly."

"Perhaps it's best if we could resume our conversation from earlier?"

"I know a better place. Come on, grab your coat, and we'll go."

"This better be good."

"Oh, it is."

"Hm."

"Trust me."

He did not answer.

**OOO**

"How often do you come here?" He asked, hands in his pocket, eyes straining to make out the shapes of buildings ahead of them. It was sundown.

"Often enough." An idle hand reached out to a leaf from a tree, and plucked it out.

"So you know the layabouts of the place?" Streets were almost deserted, he observed.

"Very well."

"I thought you like to talk."

"I do." He threw an inscrutable look at him before explaining, "Let's keep it to a neutral topic, and not the things I'd rather not share."

"Why not?"

"Trade secrets."

"Ah. I see."

"You'd better."

"So, what did _he_ tell you about my progress?"

"You're progressing."

"How illuminating."

"Mmhmm. He did say that you wish to seek out the answer here, in the East."

"And?"

"I could be of use to you."

"How?"

"Tell me what you want to know."

"Location. His whereabouts. _Everything_."

"That's a lot of work."

"Over your head in this one, then?"

"No, just observing that it would take us longer than just a week here to ferret out such answers."

"Indeed."

"Why is it important to you?"

"It is really not of your concern."

"It is."

He levelled him a penetrating stare, which Sirius countered with one of concern. "He is responsible for someone's death."

"Just one?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's a drug dealer."

"I don't mean by his line of work."

"Oh, you mean … murder, then?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry about that."

He waved dismissively, turning away as they resumed their normal pace.

"What about you?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"What vested interest do _you_ have in the matter?"

"I'm under orders."

"That's all?"

"Information, yes. That's all."

He kept quiet, unsure of how to take it in. Should he be glad that his partner did not have any vested interest like he did? Should he be upset that Sirius would not take this as intensely as he would?

"But I am entrusted to perform my task to the best of my abilities."

He turned sharply, wordlessly expressing his confusion.

"I'll help you, to the best of my abilities," Sirius explained, a hard edge now present in his usually pleasant timbre.

"For a stranger?" He almost sneered, despite the sincerity the other man emanated.

"You work for _him_ too, don't you?"

'Yes, but I don't see– "

"Then we're comrades."

"Comrades?"

"Yeah, we're in this together. We'll pull through together."

"Er…"

"Come on, Remus, time to go back."

**OOO**

It was their third night in Budapest, the capital of Hungary. It was already about one o'clock, and still Sirius had not returned from his undertakings for the day. Remus had stayed in his room, compiling their various findings and organizing their data in encrypted form to be presented to their King. He was starting to worry, since his colleague had assured him that his normal working hours usually extended to one o'clock and no later. Perhaps tonight was an exception? Still, he could not ward off this uneasiness. He took a deep breath, willing himself to drive all images of Sirius in varying states of awful bodily harm out of his mind.

Which would have worked, if not for the gentle, and weakening – he realized, now alarmed as he jumped out of his seat – knock on the door.

"Remus," Sirius croaked, kneeling before the man as the door opened wide, and clutched at his trousers.

"Sirius, are you alright?"

He peeked out at the corridor to check for unwanted visitors. There was none. Gathering all his strength, he heaved the man up, slinging Sirius' arm around his shoulder, and used his free arm to support his side as he kicked the door shut and locked it quickly. He guided the injured man to the bed, and as soon as Sirius was laid down carefully, he frantically unbuttoned his shirt, and was relieved to see lack of cuts, bruises or any sort of indication that he had been wounded.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking you for wounds."

"I'm alright, Remus."

"Yes, I can see that."

"Just got punched, that's all."

"And kicked, I presume?"

"Yeah."

"Perfectly in tip-top condition, are you?"

"Oh yes, very."

"Hm."

"Mind getting off my thighs? They've fallen asleep."

"Right," he replied tightly, getting off the man as fast as he could when he realized his compromising position. "How was it tonight?"

"Not good."

"You've been compromised?"

"Almost. I'm afraid we'll have to wait."

"We don't have the time for that."

"I know, but there's no choice, is there?"

"I could go in your place."

"You don't know enough Hungarian."

"I can speak German."

"Alright."

"You'll have to stay put, though."

"I shan't."

"_You have to_."

"I won't."

"_Why not?_"

"You might need me."

"I can handle things on my own fairly well, thank you very much."

"What if you were ambushed?"

"If we do it _right_, there wouldn't be _any ambush_."

"You can't trust these men."

"Dolohov – I fear him the most. But Yaxley and Rowle are manageable."

"They're not Greyback's men, Remus."

"I know, you told me before. But I can manage."

"Have you got a trusty revolver with you then?"

"Yes, I have."

"Keep it at ready."

"I will."

"I'll still go."

"I know."

"You won't stop me then?"

"You're about as unstoppable as a banshee in a gale."

"Never heard that one before."

"Scottish proverb."

"Liar."

"Well, you need to sleep."

"Good night, Remus."

"Good night, Sirius."

**OOO**

"_Just what are you doing?_" he hissed, eyes darting left and right as his heart thumped hard against his chest. He glared at the black-haired man.

"Protecting you."

"You're risking everything!" He clutched his collar, pulling him nearer into the shadows when he heard footsteps approaching.

"Mm, this is comfortable."

"You don't trust me, do you?"

"That's not the issue here," he snapped.

"You've been rifling through my papers."

"Just checking your facts."

"You think I'm sending it to someone else."

"Really, Rem, do you think this is the right time and place?"

"Don't call me _that_. Butchering my name like that," he muttered, pulling him closer – if that was possible – until Sirius was flushed against him. "You also think I'm passing along the information."

"I don't."

"Then why are you here?"

"I told you."

"I don't need your protection."

"Well, I do have a problem with that," he whispered into his ear, both now striving to keep quiet and unnoticed in the dark, filthy alley.

"Well, what is it?"

"You can't fight."

"I'm a good aim."

"You're useless in close range."

"Then I'll just deal with it long-range."

"Fat lot of good that'll do you."

"I've survived, so far."

"Luck. Sheer luck."

"What do you want exactly?"

"Let me help you."

"I refuse."

"It's for your own good."

A clink of a bottle knocking against the walls startled them out of their hushed quarrel. Both stilled, eyes now shut tight. They hoped fervently it wasn't Dolohov. Or any of the three.

"Who's there?" A deep, slight-accented voice called out from a distance. _Dolohov._ They cursed their luck, eyes now staring at each other, wordlessly asking the other – _What to do?_

_Come on. _Grey eyes gave a steely gaze.

_Nonono. This is bollocks! _Brown eyes stared back frantically.

_Just do it. Follow me._ Pursed lips meant no turning back. Puckered by now, and fast approaching.

And they smacked their lips on top of each other's.

It was for forever.

Felt like it, and it didn't feel the least bit comfortable – for either one of them. Not with the stench of the alley reaching up to their olfactory senses.

And he was gone. As soon as they've heard footsteps leading away, both broke free fast, with Sirius jumping back, the back of his hand already wiping traces of Remus' saliva off of his lips.

"Sorry."

"Could've done something else!"

"We were so close!"

"That doesn't mean anything."

"It does, around here."

"_Forget it._"

"_Yes. Let's._"

But they didn't.

* * *

**A/N: **Fast eh? =) Ah. I was itching to write this chapter. Anyway, this is more dialogue-based, and I do hope you enjoyed it so far. I wanted to show they interact you see, rather than focus on their thoughts. We're moving along with the plot now. ;) As usual, read and review, m'dears!


	6. Chapter 6: Intransigence

**Unintended Intentions**

**Chapter 6: Intransigence**

Anyone bumping into him would immediately regret looking into his eyes. They held a particular hardness, a pinch of cruelty and a dangerous hint of unbridled violence. His thin, pale lips were set in a grim straight line, his beautiful high cheekbones accentuating a certain aristocratic air about him – despite his unkempt beard, shoulder-length hair and grimy, dull-coloured attire. He stood outside the door, body stock still as his eyes scanned the streets for unwelcomed eyes and ears. Satisfied that there were none, he signalled to his other two comrades – a quick, curt jerk of the head and a silent snarl – and entered the pub.

They were greeted with silence, and it was only for a brief moment that they were spared a glance by the pub's clients. Sensing that the trio came without any air of official authority, the rest of the inhabitants settled into their muttered conversations, ignoring their presence. As long as they kept to themselves and didn't attract any attention, they were left alone. They settled down in a better-lit area of the room, knowing that they had nothing to fear since they held some modicum of respect in this area of the town.

The reputation was earned, subtly so but was earned nonetheless. They were the Feared Three, and anyone knew better than to cross paths with them. Especially with Dolohov. His prowess in close-range combat and his unpredictable surges of violence were enough reasons to keep people at bay and on guard at all times.

Yaxley – a stocky, blonde-haired man with an ever-present sneer – signalled for three pints of beer for the three of them. Rowle leaned back in his seat, his blue eyes darting left and right as he watched for their client to arrive. They were expecting an Englishman, and no doubt he would be the perfect candidate to be presented to their superior. He fulfilled all the criteria of a perfect puppet – greedy, ambitious, and extremely short-sighted and therefore a fool – judging from the sound of the letter.

The bell above the door chimed. Rowle and Yaxley turned towards the door immediately, both stilling themselves, looking very much like a pair of cheetahs about to spring upon an antelope. Dolohov remained quiet, and did not look up. Instead, he kept his hands in his pocket, gripping the hilt of his dagger lightly in preparation for an attack. Yaxley let in a sharp intake of breath, and Dolohov looked up – sensing the man's apprehension. Slowly he turned, his lips pressed tighter as his eyes narrowed a fraction - a sure sign that he too was perplexed at the sudden turn of events.

A rough, dirty-looking man limped towards them; the wrinkles around his face making his greeting smile look like a hideous sneer that made them shudder lightly. The man walked purposefully towards them, and they knew better than to think he was mistaken. He held out his hand, his mouth agape at what looked like a friendly smile and his voice was expectedly gruff and bore all hints of uncouthness unaccustomed to propriety.

"Hello, gents. I'm right on time, aren't I?"

"Sit down," Dolohov ordered, gesturing to the seat between Yaxley and Rowle.

"Alright."

Yaxley scrunched his nose, glaring at Dolohov for a moment, who looked unperturbed despite the brief whiff of a familiar aroma of dung, sewer and urine drifted past him and next to Yaxley. He waited until the man was thoroughly settled in his seat, before sparing his two colleagues a brief glance, a faint smirk on his lips indicating that he knew exactly why they wanted to strangle him so badly now. Alas, there was nothing to be done. He was their leader, and they knew it.

"Pardon us, but we were expecting a distinguished," his lips curled in a sneer, though the man was unruffled by the suggestion, "gentleman."

"I'm under his orders," he answered brusquely, bushy eyebrows furrowed rather comically at him.

"I see." He was disturbed by this new piece of information, realising now that despite the English fool's stupidity, he was also a cunning fox.

"So where's the toffee?"

"There is no toffee," Rowle replied, coolly.

"Why not?" The man sounded like a petulant child, his scowl deepening as Dolohov's humourless smile widened.

"We have a proposal for your boss."

"You said we'll have the toffee now."

Yaxley kept his tell-tale fists hidden from view, but Dolohov caught sight of the flexing of the muscles of his jaw, and nudged him with his feet, gently. It would not do to have one of them losing their temper right now. The blonde shot him a quick look, before staring hard at Rowle, who smirked when he perceived what was going on.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dolohov replied coolly, bringing the mug up to his lips as he took a good gulp of beer. He saw a flash of fear pass the man's eyes, and when he set the mug down again, the man was had already pushed back his chair.

"What are you doing?" Yaxley asked, through gritted teeth.

"You're not Greyback's."

Rowle snorted in contempt. "Of course not."

"You- you're trying to trick me."

"We are not trying to do such things," Dolohov clarified tersely.

"What do you want?"

"Sit down, please."

"Why should I? You're just out to trap us!" He stood up, earning a few curious stares in their direction.

Without a word, Yaxley yanked the man down, squeezing the man's arm as tight as he could to make him understand the scene he was causing could potentially harm them all. The filthy beggar didn't seem to care, though he did wince, and had quietened down into sullenness.

"We are his colleagues, with a very different, but highly profitable business model in mind."

"Yeah? Well you can shove it up your arse."

"Listen, you rat," Rowle spat at him, already losing a bit of his patience.

"The name's Crowley," he spat back, though was generally ignored.

"This, is what we have in mind." As he said it, he took out a folded paper from his coat, and pushed it towards the man. "Can you read?" He smiled congenially, when he saw a flash of annoyance pass through the man's contorted features.

Yaxley relaxed his grip, clearly calmed by the man's silence as he read the document. Rowle lit up a cigarette, offering one to each of them, and both refused.

"I don't understand."

"Don't expect you to," Rowle mumbled, smirking when he saw the rat - as he called him now – glare at him.

"What don't you understand?" Dolohov took over, though even his patience was wearing thin.

"Why'd you need us for this?"

"Ah." He smiled, and leaned back in his seat. "I do not know, either. We are simply under orders, just like you."

The man didn't retort, and scrutinised them one by one in turn, apparently gauging for some bit of trust. "And if he refuses?" He finally spoke.

"Then you may resume your contact with Greyback."

"No consequences?" The man didn't seem to like him, Dolohov thought, as he narrowed his eyes at him now.

"We have nothing to be afraid of."

The man's eyes widened in some fearful understanding, realising the implications of the words. Yaxley and Rowle smirked, and exchanged quick looks.

"Alright. I'll- I'll let him know."

"Very good." In a swift motion, the three men stood up, and walked briskly towards the exit. Rowle took out a few notes, and passed it to the bartender, giving him a warning stare before joining his colleagues outside.

No one noticed the tall, imposing figure at the back of the pub, leaving quietly by the back door.

Crowley, stood up, glared at all the possible onlookers, and limped out the front door. He hadn't gone very far before being pulled into a dark alley, his mouth covered as his eyes widened frantically, searching for help that never came.

**OOO**

"Well, well, well. We've struck gold." The familiar smooth voice calmed him, and he stopped struggling. Sensing his calmness, he was released, and he grinned at his captor.

"You heard everything?" He asked quietly, both now walking down the alley, towards the riverbank.

"I can read lips."

"And?"

"Well done, Remus."

"Thank you."

"Let me take a look at that document."

They walked in companionable silence as Sirius read through the papers thoroughly. He turned to Remus, and handed them back to him.

"Well?" His eyebrows were arched in askance.

"We're playing a different game now," Sirius replied, voice tight with tension.

"I thought Greyback only dealt with drugs," he stated, somewhat resigned.

"Maybe it is part of a larger scheme," he suggested, understanding just why Remus felt slightly downcast at the turn of events. "You were brilliant, you know," he added, a genuine smile gracing his handsome features.

Remus looked up, and smiled, albeit smugly. "Thanks. I really got into character."

"I don't doubt it."

"So where do we stand now?"

"On the brink of war," he replied, glancing quickly at his companion who shot him a dirty look.

"Such a terrible cliché, and completely inaccurate."

"It's a different kind of war," he attempted again, though his mischievous smile betrayed his feelings on the subject.

"I suppose he'd know what to do with this information?" He felt slightly unsure at the implications of their findings, though clearly disturbed by it, and very much desperate for some assurance.

He sensed the trepidation, and masked his own with a resolute, "Yes."

"It's almost lunchtime."

"Hungry?"

"Starving. Ravenous. Famished."

"Well, get changed first. You smell terrible."

'It was your idea."

"Well, a mongrel like you isn't supposed to smell like strawberries and citrus and lime," he remarked drily.

"I'm not a mongrel."

"Crowley is."

He grunted in reply, and they lapsed into silence again.

Their term had almost come to an end. In fact, in two days' time, they were to leave for London – and neither felt particularly pleased at that.

Sirius stole a quick glance sideways, before looking ahead, confused thoughts swirling and coiling around in his mind. He hadn't enough time to comprehend his actions from the day before, given the fast rate at which events were progressing. In fact, after that unfortunate event in the alley, both had walked home silently, air fraught with so much anxiety and confusion that neither said any bedtime pleasantries as they went up to their rooms and slept.

Truth be told, the kiss wasn't exactly unpleasant. Sure - it was quick, and their lips hardly ever moved, and they were so tensed from waiting for danger to pass them by – but he still thought it had some merits of its own. For one, Remus' lips were soft, slightly chapped, and from the choke he heard rather briefly, he wasn't the only one who thought it was at least tolerable.

He let out a soft sigh.

His companion, on the other hand, was lost in thoughts of his own – not unlike those of his, actually, if only he knew. Remus was absolutely livid last night, though he kept it to himself, because his colleague was every bit as thoughtless and reckless as he had previously estimated him to be.

Still, his virtues – protectiveness, intelligence and humour – far outweighed the actions he took that night, Remus reasoned. The nagging suspicion that pecked consistently on his conscience last night as he tried hard to fall asleep simply would not leave him alone. Perhaps Sirius was in denial, or he really was a sneaky bastard who knew exactly what he was doing to Remus. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to believe the second part of his thoughts. They had only known each other for almost two weeks now, and Sirius, Remus found, was every bit a gentleman, though he lacked the pomposity and stifling air of arrogance about him. He was uncharacteristically morose at times, and following his quiet, sombre episodes were bouts of reckless and unbounded energy.

_Dawn broke, welcomed by both men as they sat up in their respective beds, their sleep-addled mind trying to comprehend the past night's events. _

_It felt so hazy, almost dreamlike, and both almost dismissed it as just that – a dream. Strange dream, but at least it was not real – just a product of their overexerted imaginations. The adjoining door was shut, and both felt very thankful for the brief allowance of privacy as they got ready to put their plan into action._

_They were dressed fast, and both were shocked when they saw each other standing outside their respective doors, about to leave for breakfast. An uncomfortable silence passed them, and they walked down to the dining room. Neither spoke for a long while – felt like that, though only a quarter of an hour had passed actually – until Sirius resolutely pushed the kiss away from his thoughts and began reiterating their plans for the day. Remus had listened contemplatively, nodding at intervals, and suggesting a few things along the way. By half past seven, both were done and had straightened out their plan. _

_Only thing left was execution. _

They stopped in front of the elevator, with Remus in his normal, but shabby clothes by now. He had discarded the mask along the way, tossing it into an oil drum alight with dying flames that licked at the rubber, turning it into ashes by the time they decided to continue on their way.

"Remus," Sirius began, voice cracking from the brief disuse, and Remus looked up at him. "Good job today," he finished weakly, looking away and shifting uncomfortably where he stood.

"You too." He smiled, though he knew the other man could not see. He was pleased that Sirius strove for some normality – it showed that he was not alone in his struggle with his silly thoughts.

"Thanks," came the muttered reply, before both stepped into the elevator.

Neither thought the ride up as comfortable, though both were unwavering in their resolve not to talk about it.

**OOO**

"Look, Sirius, it is perhaps the best solution not to talk about it," he said, for perhaps the sixth time that late morning, to no avail. Each time he interrupted the man, all he received was a deepening scowl, which only made Sirius looked all the more attractive, somehow.

"Remus."

"Sirius, please."

"We're partners now."

"For just this assignment, and could we please get on with the lunch?"

"Fine."

He chanced a look at the black-haired man. Eyebrows shot up when he realised that Sirius was actually pouting, and his lips began quivering as he tried to stifle a smile. He had been so engaged in fending off his colleague's inquisitive inquiries as to how he came into His Majesty's employment that he had forgotten that time was slipping past so fast, and they had only one little task to complete before they could retire peacefully and pack up their belongings. He decided that should Sirius be on his best behaviour – less reckless and definitely devoid of impulsive actions such as _kissing_ – he would most willing to oblige to answer the man's questions. Of course, he did not share this sentiment, lest the other man thought it his place to frequently bother him until he succumbed to his incessant questions.

"Do you know the lay of the land well?" He asked, looking up at Sirius, who momentarily forgot his annoyance.

"Yes, I've been there a few times," he admitted, rather reluctantly. Remus arched an eyebrow at this, conveying his interest subtly, though whether by choice or ignorance, Sirius did not attempt to enlighten him further.

Neither spoke and lunch was over soon enough. As they made their way out of the restaurant, Sirius offered him mint, to which he refused politely. He chose to ignore the dark mumbles of _don't need it_ as Sirius glanced away, though now the memory of their brief kiss in the alley came to the forefront of his thoughts. He had never felt so self-conscious before, especially not when it came to matters such as this, and yet –

"Are you sure?" He blurted out.

Sirius turned to him, the puzzled expression clearly not suitable for his face. "What do you mean?"

_In for a penny, in for a pound._ "That I don't need it?" He waved casually towards the mint wrapper, still in Sirius' hand, though his tone was very much forced that even the other man could detect it, judging from his smirk and cocked eyebrow.

"Oh? Do you generally ask for a performance assessment after you tell someone to forget about it?" He asked, voice deceptively sweet, though Remus was quick enough to detect the smooth sarcasm in it, as well as _something else_ that he couldn't quite put into words.

"I thought _you_ might want to talk about it," he replied, matching Sirius' tone and wit and arming himself with a genial smile. Sirius narrowed his eyes at this, knowing that Remus was right, but hell, he still didn't want to admit defeat.

"It was satisfactory," he said disdainfully, the haughtiness returning to his features once more as he sought to control himself when he saw the amused look Remus was giving him. The nerve.

"Likewise, if not perhaps much less."

Sirius growled softly, though inwardly he crowed at the veiled compliment. Veiled and sarcastic, but no doubt he rattled the other man's good senses and propriety. Hah. Petty victory, but he didn't care.

**OOO**

As they bantered back and forth about various other subjects – both were studiously avoiding the Incident in the Alley save for the brief mention previously – their long walk easily became a short one, and they reached their destination in a span of 15 minutes. Both were silenced at once, their ease dissipating steadily into a mix of anxiety and tension as they surveyed the place.

They were in an unsavoury part of town, they realised, as the various shrill catcalls reached their ears from the balcony above them. Sirius, for all his trained dignity, could not help but to wrinkle his nose in disgust when he heard the various repellent names the distasteful women called them. It was a whorehouse, and he could feel Remus' discomfort at being there. Speaking of whom, he felt his colleague's questioning glance settle on him. He set his lips in a grim, straight line, conveying his utmost reluctance at handling this part of the mission, though its necessity was not debatable. Remus stiffened, though only he could feel it, as it was rather imperceptible and he could feel the resolve emanating from him as he stared resolutely at the entrance.

"Shall we?" Remus asked, voice low and taut, as he was now out of his element.

Sirius did not answer him, but replied by way of stepping forward and pushing the door inwards, cringing when his nose caught whiff of gaudy perfumes and his ears threatened to burst as shrill laughter pervaded his auditory senses. He could feel Remus staying so close to him, as though scared and using him as a shield from these women, wolves as they were. He was sorely tempted to put an arm around the man's shoulder, to comfort and soothe him of his uneasiness. He kept his hands to himself, and decided to be swift with his course of actions. The sooner they were done, the faster they can return to their temporary lodgings.

"Why hello, Duke Wellington!" A raspy voice greeted him from the left, its owner a woman clad in such a garish ensemble of lace and velvet.

He smiled charmingly, easing into his role effortlessly. "Good afternoon, Madame."

"Oh, hush!" She admonished him, eyes wide as though he had blasphemed against her. "It is Fleuretta, sire!" She giggled, lashes fluttering coyly as she swiped him gently on the arm.

"My humblest apologies, Fleuretta, my dear," he acquiesced, bowing a little as he hid a brief smirk when he realised that his colleague was trembling ever so slightly.

"Oh, you know just the right things to say, my lordship!" She giggled again, and gestured to one of the girls to approach them. "She is rather new, and I have no doubt you would like to have a bit of a time to acquaint yourself with her?"

Subtlety was not her skill, Remus thought, fighting back a grimace when the blonde girl who approached them curtsied so clumsily.

"You are most considerate, and I am truly happy to oblige." Sirius nodded briefly at the girl, before pulling Remus to the forefront a little. Both women now looked at him, eyes gleaming with interest as they regarded his new companion. "Unfortunately, I cannot leave him alone. He is a distant cousin," he lied glibly, charming smile back in place as both women turned back to him, "and I simply _loathe_ to be such a terrible, terrible host."

It had to be done, Remus told himself. They had to do it, and by 'they', it included him too. They had equal roles in this partnership, and therefore he also had an equal share of responsibility when it came to this. Yet, despite all his efforts to remain completely reasonable and logical about the current state of things, he knew that there was nothing more in this world right now that would mean so much to him than an opportunity to strangle Sirius and to kill him slowly and in every agonising way possible.

"Oh," the Madame gasped, understanding at once, and beckoned for another girl, this time a dark-haired beauty dressed fashionably in midnight blue, to come forward and present herself. "This is Genevieve, she is fairly adept in all matters pertaining –"

"He is to be engaged soon, and I do not wish to endanger his union to a fair lady," he murmured smoothly, nodding in approval at Genevieve as though in apology, "so all I ask is that you provide him with a very able conversation partner."

"Ah, that can be arranged," the Madame purred in assent, and summoned another girl, this time a gentle and demure looking girl from a corner of the room. "Dominique is painfully shy," she explained in clipped tones, while shooting the girl a mild glare, before turning back to Sirius, charm returning to her façade, "and I think she would do well to perform in such a capacity." She let her gaze rest briefly on Remus, face softening into an understanding gaze.

"Very well," Sirius agreed, and with that, he left Remus to his task. His job was much more difficult, he thought, as it would require some crafty manoeuvring of conversation and delicate extrication of information.

**OOO**

Remus could only imagine what exactly went on upstairs, as he seated himself on an armchair, watching Dominique pouring them two cups of tea. He smiled gently at her, knowing that his quiet and calm mannerism would soothe her nervousness somewhat. He was very much thankful that Sirius had intervened in his favour, knowing that he would be at a loss if he was given Genevieve instead, who had mischievously blown softly into his ear as he passed her by.

"You don't seem suitable for the profession," he began, gentle or not, he was here on business.

She gaped at him for a moment, shocked that he chose to be blunt with her. Recovering her senses, she smiled wistfully, eyes downcast as she stared into her tea.

"I did not have the fortune to be born into a respectable family, sir," she replied, her voice meek as though seeking forgiveness.

He flinched, remembering that he too had once been as timid as her.

"So you did not have the education then?" he asked, and she nodded in confirmation. "Was there not any other job you could do?"

"I have no skills whatsoever, sir; none that could help me obtain other employment."

"I see." He sipped his tea, mind whirling as he quickly chose a smooth transition into his intended topics. "Does the Madame force you …?"

"No, she has been quite kind, albeit reluctantly."

"You sound rather cultured, dear girl."

"We have to take lessons in … propriety," she almost whispered the last word, as though ashamed at the paradox.

"I see." He cleared his throat, discomfort crawling up his skin as he launched his attack. "Forgive me for asking, but do you not get requested by certain men?"

She looked up at him, eyes searching for some sort of judgment – he thought, he wasn't sure actually – and answered quietly, "Sometimes."

He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly disliking the thought that some men were so perverse in their ways. "And do you entertain them?"

"I have to."

"Madame doesn't stop you?"

"She can't. It's business, see?"

"I thought she defends you."

"She does, when she can. But…"

"Powerful men?" He asked, and she looked up at him, questioning him silently. He seemed to know. There was just something in his voice…

"Yes," she replied shortly, though she sounded rather defeated.

"What sort of powerful men?" He asked, barely keeping the growl out of his voice, and she gasped, startled. It was almost an act, to be compassionate with her, but he truly did feel sorry for her.

"Please, I am not at a liberty to tell you!" She pleaded, turning away as she refused to answer.

"I can name them," he said cautiously, and began doing so, his gaze intense as he watched for flickers of emotions to pass through her expression. At the mention of familiar names, her lips tightened, and she would refuse to say anything, but she looked at him in puzzlement when he mentioned unfamiliar ones. She was desperate for someone to talk to, he knew, and he felt almost guilty for exploiting her vulnerability like this. Yet, he did what he had to do.

"How long do they usually stay?"

"A week, or so."

"Do you accompany them elsewhere?" he asked, voice tinged with a mix of sympathy and anger.

"Sometimes, but never to grand parties and such. They usually buy us new dresses, and we just follow them, act properly –"

"We?"

"Well, they come together sometimes, and the other girls and I are expected to be their companions." She began to trust him, this kind and gentle man who just simply cared for her, despite the fact that she held a less respectable profession. He was just so interested in her life, knowing about her that she didn't care anymore about what her job expectations were. Didn't care what it meant to be discrete, if only she could seize this chance to pour out her frustrations.

Remus, on the other hand, was slightly taken aback by this new revelation. So these men were not averse to flaunting their mistresses and questionable lady company in this part of the world. Nor were they afraid of showing themselves as a united front, rather than a bunch of bickering noblemen clawing their way to the thrones of their respective nations. Names he had had listed showed that they all came from different parts of Europe, though each held equal amount of influence where they came from.

"I hope they don't do anything to –"

"No, not yet so far."

"Not yet?"

"Yes. I overheard from some other girls, and they've all kept to the same story." She paused. "If they like you enough, they'll bring you there, and… and-"

"I apologise. I should not have asked."

"Thank you." They drank their tea in silence, and a short while passed before she spoke again. "They are rather frightening sometimes, with all their talk of rebellion and anarchy."

"Ah, men with ambition," he commented nonchalantly.

She turned to him, eyes imploring him to take her seriously.

"No, you don't understand."

He arched an eyebrow, playing the part of a sceptic rather convincingly.

"Oh?"

"They- they intend to start a war, a war to end all wars," she whispered timidly, her doleful eyes peering nervously at the door, afraid that they would be found out.

He closed the distance between them, patting her back soothingly, as he spoke. "Men tend to have such brutal delusions when they are heavily imbibed with wine and liquor, my dear. Don't take it to heart."

"But you see, sir, it scares me! Not too long ago… my family was taken from me…" She sobbed harder, and he struggled to find the right words to say. He felt almost cruel to manipulate her like this, but it was for the greater good. He grimaced, remembering that such words were once uttered by his benefactor, His Majesty.

"I understand," he remarked gently, and she pulled away, puffy eyes rimmed with redness.

"I wish there was something I could do," she murmured, longing and regret evident in her voice.

"You can run, and hide."

"I wish to fight, or at least know how to stop them."

"It is too dangerous for you, or anyone else for that matter."

"I know. They are dangerous men." She let out a heavy sigh, and her expression changed when a peculiar thought struck her. "Perhaps, perhaps if I could solve the riddle first…"

His sharp hearing instantly picked up on her strange muttering. "Riddle?" He asked quizzically, feigning confusion.

"Yes, they said they had to consult a riddle first, though I think they meant solving one," she explained, smiling in slight amusement, "There were some foreign men among them, and I thought since they did not have proper command of English, they…"

"Naturally," he affirmed, nodding as he made a mental note to share this piece with his colleague.

She was about to say more on the matter when a loud knock shocked them both, and they jumped in their seats.

"I apologise for interrupting," a mocking voice called out to them, "but the agreed time is up!"

"Yes, Belle, we're almost done!" She answered, straightening her dress as Remus stood up swiftly. She smiled at him, and gave him a quick hug before thanking him. "Thank you, kind sir. It has been too long since I've had a proper conversation such as this."

"Ah, the pleasure is mine also, dear Dominique." He pulled away, grinning at her. "I wish you a prosperous life ahead."

"And I, you."

**OOO**

"Your turn," Sirius told him, finally finishing his succinct report, as they packed their belongings.

He told him, of Dominique, of what she heard, and of the strange phrase – _consulting a riddle_.

"Lord Riddle," his colleague stated firmly, eyes narrowing in concentration as he mulled over this piece of news.

"I thought so too."

"Did they say anything else?"

"No, our time was up."

"Shame. She seemed rather talkative."

"Only under duress," he replied vaguely, slightly annoyed that his colleague seemed to belittle her. He was replied with just an arched eyebrow and a smirk, and he rolled his eyes. "She has dreadful memories of her past."

"Ah, you old wolf." A mischievous gleam appeared in his eyes, as though realisation dawned upon him at last.

"I did nothing of the _sort!_" He widened his eyes, realising what was being implied.

"So you say," Sirius replied smugly.

"Sirius!"

"It is nothing to be ashamed of, dear Remus," he remarked with false assurance, patting his back – much to his infuriation.

"_I'm not like you_," he sneered, almost regretting his tone and words when the air around them seemed to tense, and Sirius removed his hand from his back, face hardening into an inscrutable look.

"Good night, Remus," he said coolly, retreating into his own room as he rebuffed the other man's attempt at an apology.

"Sirius-" His tone was pleading, and he let his arm fall limply to his side, when he was swatted away roughly by his companion. "I –"

"Good night," he said firmly, tone harsher than he had ever heard from him before, and this jarred him so much that he did nothing to respond to the slammed door.

* * *

**A/N:** I tried to end it at some point, but somehow it grew and kept on growing until this point. Also, I realized that the timeline is somehow off, so I shall be editing the past chapters. I wanted their trip to last 2 weeks, including the return trip. So, yeah, anyway, I do hope that you enjoyed this. Please do remember to review! Thanks!


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